


Time Apart

by SmileAndASong



Category: Marvel, Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Depression, F/M, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Divorce, Sad Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 14:05:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17346569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmileAndASong/pseuds/SmileAndASong
Summary: “I think we need to some time apart, Peter.”The words ring through Peter’s head relentlessly, they make him stir like he’s having a horrible nightmare. Only it isn’t the kind of nightmare that he wakes up from, nor is it the kind where MJ is still sleeping soundly beside him.No, this is something far worse - it's his very unfortunate reality.





	Time Apart

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, here's yet another sad Peter B. Parker drabble! I fell even more in love with this sad, sweet man after seeing Spider-Verse for the second time. I desperately wanted to write something about him, especially something that explores his very obvious depression.
> 
> This takes place more or less right before he's brought to Miles' Earth. No happy ending in fic, but we all know it works out in the movie!
> 
> I hope you enjoy this sad mess. As always, comments and kudos are appreciated!

_“I think we need to some time apart, Peter.”_

The words ring through Peter’s head relentlessly, they make him stir like he’s having a horrible nightmare. Only it isn’t the kind of nightmare that he wakes up from, nor is it the kind where MJ is still sleeping soundly beside him.

No, this is something far worse - it's his very unfortunate reality.

He’s living alone in an apartment that he can barely afford. It’s full of trash that he can’t be bothered to clean up. He has almost no furniture and what few pieces he does have were all found out on the curb, the actual trash that people had no longer wanted. 

Strangely, he sympathizes with his mismatched and broken furniture. He can relate, he knows what it feels like to be kicked to the curb and alone.

It’s been months since the divorce, and he’s almost forgotten what it feels like to have someone seek him out because they want his company. The only people he's in regular contact with are his landlord, the utility companies, and his credit card company, but they don’t contact him as friends; it’s all overdue payment notices and threats of eviction if the money does not come in as soon as possible. 

Payment would be easier if he had a job, a real job, and not one that involved putting on tights and fighting evil. Crime doesn’t pay, but unfortunately, neither does crime-fighting. His money is pretty much nonexistent, much like his desire to actually find a job.

Last week he had tried to go back to the job that had once meant the world to him, but they turned him away as if he were a complete stranger, like his fifteen some odd years of service to the Daily Bugle suddenly meant nothing. 

It turns out they’ve moved on in the form of a young college graduate for all their photography needs, who’s working as a ‘social media specialist’. Peter doesn’t know what that means, and he didn’t bother asking Betty Brant (Jameson was too busy to meet with him directly) for an explanation during their meeting; he didn’t want to sound even more like the out of touch old guy that he knows he’s becoming.

“We need some janitorial help,” Betty had offered, but Peter ended up declining with what little self-pride and dignity remained. It’s not much, and it’s dwindling every single day.

His meeting at the Bugle is a painful reminder him of why he doesn’t go out anymore.

He has no need to. He’s got the endless entertainment of cable, at least, until those overdue bills came back to haunt him. All of the food that he could ever want to order is at his fingertips, thanks to the wonder of delivery apps on his phone. He knows he can’t afford to eat the way he does, not just for the sake of his wallet, but for his rapidly growing waistline, too.

It’s yet another reason to warrant the hermit lifestyle he’s growing more and more accustomed to. Inside his own personal disaster room, he can avoid all the gazes of the people that still do recognize Peter B. Parker and the judgments that came with said gazes.

Peter is always nice and forces himself to engage in the pleasantries. He desperately tries to give off the facade that he's fine, that he's flourishing, actually. It’s a lie, and he knows they see through it, but sometimes he tricks himself into thinking otherwise as a coping mechanism. It helps, if only for the moment.

They speak about him after the awkward interactions conclude, but they at least have the decency to wait until he’s seemingly out of earshot. Sadly, that’s a luxury that Peter doesn’t have; his amplified hearing makes it impossible to not hear their true thoughts.

_“Peter really let himself go.”_

_“He’s taking the divorce really hard, isn’t he?”_

_“It’s a shame, he used to be such a handsome young man.”_

That handsome young man is starting to feel more and more like a distant dream every day. 

It’s not only becoming difficult to leave the house as Peter B. Parker, but it’s getting harder to do so with the mask on as well.

He’s never been in the superhero game for the glory, it’s always been because he has a duty. With great power comes great responsibility, as his late Uncle had said. That has been his moral compass since that fateful day he had lost Ben, it’s what has defined his entire character, all of his decisions, for the last twenty-two years.

But what happens when his powers suddenly don’t feel so great anymore? 

He’s stumbling more than usual. He’s slower on the reaction. His punches don’t pack the same punch as they used to. He’s letting the bad guys land hits where they shouldn’t. 

He still wins, he always wins, but not without having to work a lot harder than he’s had to in the past to clinch the victory. His body aches more and more every day. He’s getting older; not even superhumans are immune to the pain that comes with aging.

Maybe he should quit while he’s ahead, he finds himself thinking after each Spider-Man outing. It's naive to think the city needs him specifically. New York is full of superheroes, ones that are a hell of a lot younger than he is to boot. 

Maybe he’s not needed anymore, maybe he’s not wanted anymore.

The Bugle doesn’t want him anymore, Mary-Jane doesn’t want him anymore, so why would his beloved New York be any different?

It’s midday when his spider sense goes off. He’s still lying on his bed, or rather, lying on his mattress on the floor. He’s already slept through all five of his morning alarms, he’s missed a job interview for a freelance photography company, and Mary-Jane hasn’t returned any of his voicemails from the previous night.

He’s still in his spider-suit from the bank robbery he had stopped late last night. It’s covered in pizza grease stains and sweat, and it’s practically coming undone at the seams because of his bloated gut. 

It should be easy. All he has to do is grab the mask, jump out the window, web-sling to the crime scene, and then bam! The day is saved.

But his head, it hurts, it’s pounding as if it's being beaten against a brick wall. His body aches like he’s being run over again and again by the incessant traffic on the Queensborough bridge. 

It’s his heart that aches most of all, with a lack of motivation and a yearning for the companionship that he misses more than anything.

If only he had wanted those kids…

He doesn’t get up. Instead, he turns over on his side, hiding his face in his drool-stained pillowcase. He shuts his eyes and tries to go back to sleep.

For the first time in twenty-two years, he ignores his spider sense. Someone else will respond, he tells himself before falling asleep. Someone who will do a better job than him, someone actually worthwhile. 

They don’t need him. No one does.


End file.
